Haunted
by KillMeRomantic
Summary: When Sherlock's dreams/nightmares lead him to realize his feelings for a close friend, how will he react? (Very vague I know but this is my first one. John/Sherlock eventually haha. Rated M for some intended smut in a later chapter. Please read and review, let me know if I've made any mistakes and I'll change them. Thanks!) [image taken from google, do not own it or characters]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sherlock blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurred and he couldn't quite make sense of where he was, what time it was or anything for that matter. Where was he? He was in a seated position with his head hanging heavily from his shoulders, unable to lift it as he tried to focus his vision. The light in the room was rather bright, and he moaned as his head and eyes began to pound under its intensity.

"Ah! Sherlock!" The hauntingly familiar voice sounded off from another part of the room. Sherlock could hear the stomach turning pleasure in his voice. "Well" he giggled lightly "at least one of you is awake – but I'm afraid we can't start the party without all of our guests now, can we?" Sherlock could almost hear the crooked smile on Jim Moriarty's face as he spoke, sending shivers down Sherlock's spine.

Sherlock lifted his head with great strain, focusing his eyes on the figure that approached him. "Well – if it isn't the world's favourite consulting criminal" Sherlock rolled the words off of his tongue with every ounce of sarcasm he could muster up, flashing the creature a half hearted smile. He turned his focus back down to where he was seated. Sherlock's hands and ankles were bound to the wood of the chair with thick rope, his torso also bound to the back of the chair with a thick, Velcro strap which he assumed that Jim bought for the occasion.

With Sherlock's evaluation of his own situation, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. He lifted his head again with great strain to his neck and glanced around the room. His living room. Nothing had been moved that he could see, but his view was limited due to being confined to his chair. He continued to survey the room, craning his neck to see as much of the room as possible, when two cold hands gripped his around the arms of the chair. "Hello, Sherlock"

Sherlock stared into the dead eyes of the monster that stood before him, baring it's teeth in an almost snarling manner. "Hiii" it sang into Sherlock's ear, causing him to blink rapidly as head drummed under the monster's raw. "Do you want to play a game Sherlock?" Jim bellowed inched away from Sherlock's face "Not right now thank you." Sherlock replied bluntly.

Jim smiled, a twisted smile that made Sherlock's face pale. "I hoped you'd say that." Jim whispered, the smile never leaving his face. "I wonder if the Doctor wants to play?" he said, spinning the chair in which Sherlock was bound to face the desk in the corner of the room. John was bound to the leg of the desk, his wrists and ankles also bound with the same thick rope and Sherlock's blue scarf tied around his eyes. His body seemed limp and his breathing was slow.

Sherlock's heart stopped and he could feel a cold shiver running through his body at the sight of his helpless companion. "I'll play!" Sherlock quickly replied "Leave him out of this. I'll play your little game!" Sherlock almost shouted to the monster as he approached John. "Aw, too late now Sherlock. You already backed out now." Jim pulled a knife from his pocket and squat down in front of John. "You're more than welcome to watch though." Jim smiled at Sherlock before focusing on John who was still unconscious on the floor.

"Aw, he's cute when he's sleeping." Jim barely let the words leave his lips before slapping John hard across the face to wake him up. Sherlock flinched as he heard the connection of the monster's hand coming into contact with his friend. John shook to consciousness, moaning as he tried to gain some sense of reality. "Wakey wakey Doctor Watson". John froze as he heard the shrill voice inches away from him. "…fuck" John whispered, his head pounding as his grasp of reality started to return.

Sherlock struggled in the chair, trying to free himself of the ever tightening grasp of the rope that bit at his skin. He began to panic as the monster edged the knife closer to John's torso. "No!" Sherlock yelled towards the monster on the floor "Don't touch him!" The monster barely glanced at Sherlock before returning his attention to the Doctor. "Oh? Not one for sharing are we Sherlock?" The hungry smile returned to Jim's lips as he pressed the cold steel of the knife against John's neck. "Now I wouldn't move if I were you Doctor. Wouldn't want to make a mess."

Jim knelt in front of the Doctor and placed his hand roughly onto John's thigh, grazing his hand slowly over it. Sherlock's gaze never left Moriarty's hand as it lay on John's thigh and slowly moved up so that Jim had a firm grip on the Doctor's waistband. "Don't! Jim, please don't!" Sherlock begged from across the room. This caught Moriarty's attention, but he did not move his position. "Oh! The great and heartless Sherlock Holmes begging? For what? His property to be left alone, or the dignity of his…friend?" Moriarty didn't care for the answer as he stared at John's lips.

Sherlock saw the hunger in Moriarty's eyes as he looked at John's lips, knowing the move that he was about to make. Sherlock was sweating, his fists clenched as he yelled out again. "Don't! Jim, don't you dare! Please! I'm begging you!" Jim merely chuckled and replied "Let's see how you like this." Jim leaned towards John, starting to close the gap between then. Moments before their lips collided Sherlock yelled out "John!"

Sherlock woke up in bed, panting heavily as he struggled against the tangle of sheets that snaked around him. He abruptly sat up and stared at the wall ahead of him, his heart racing in his chest.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock woke up in bed, panting heavily as he struggled against the tangle of sheets that snaked around him. He abruptly sat up and stared at the wall ahead of him, his heart racing in his chest. He was sweaty and it caused the silk of his pyjamas to cling uncomfortably to his skin, adding more discomfort to the situation.

From outside of his door, Sherlock heard footsteps racing towards his bedroom door followed by John bursting in, gun cocked. John quickly scanned Sherlock along with the rest of the room before inquiring "What is it? Sherlock, are you alright?" He asked in a caring and relaxed tone, but his body was still stiff, holding his gun steady and aiming it constantly at different shadows in the room.

Sherlock was still breathing heavily as he fell back onto his pillow. "I'm fine John. Just a nightmare." John looked at his friend sprawled out on the bed breathing shaky breaths. Sherlock never had nightmares, as he put it 'dreams are just a waste of brain capacity' so he never had them – until now obviously. "Okay." John replied, lowering his gun and relaxing his posture. "Are you alright? Do you need anything? Glass of water?" Sherlock looked at John who was still stood in his doorway. "No thank you." He replied "Sorry I woke you. You can go back to bed now." Okay, now John was definitely worried. _An apology? From Sherlock Holmes? Something is definitely wrong _he thought to himself. He nodded to Sherlock with a weak smile before retreating to the hallway, gently pulling the door shut behind him.

John proceeded to the living room where he took his favourite seat and relaxed, pulling out his phone to text Mycroft.

There's something up with Sherlock – JW

What now? A case that's got him running in circles? – MH

No. He had a nightmare – JW

Oh. – MH

Yes. And he apologised for waking me – JW

Very odd. I don't suppose he mentioned the subject of his scare? – MH

No. I didn't ask and he didn't say. But he screamed my name, that's why I woke up – JW

Unusual. Keep him under close observation Doctor. I may pay you a visit soon to discuss your observations – MH

I will. Although I don't really know what I'm looking out for. – JW

You'll know – MH

How? – JW

This number has been disconnected. Please contact the provider for more information. We apologise for any inconvenience.

"Of course" John uttered to himself as he lounged back in the chair "always rely on Mycroft to be contactable". John rubbed his tired eyes as he made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge to seek out a small snack before he returned to bed. The harsh light from the fridge took John aback as he squinted to adjust to it. The cool air drifted around him as he reached for the remainder of a sausage roll that he had bought earlier that day. He closed the fridge door and began up the stairs to his room, devouring the pastry as he ascended.

Downstairs, Sherlock lay still on his bed. He had straightened out the sheets which now lay over him in a comforting cloak of cotton. His room was dim, the only light to the room was the glow of the street lamps seeping through the translucent curtains. He looked over to the clock next to him on top of his bedside drawers. 2:47am. He felt really guilty for waking John at that time, knowing that he had to be getting up for work in about two hours. Wait. Guilty? Sherlock shook his head. Of course he didn't feel guilty. He was Sherlock Holmes. Self centred and all that other crap that came with his name.

He began to think back to the nightmare, remembering Moriarty's sickening smile as he grazed John's leg. The look in those crazed eyes as he tried to kiss John. It filled him with rage knowing that the monster was trying to do that to John. "Nobody does that to my John." He whispered to himself before he froze. _Wait. MY John? I don't own him, he isn't in any way mine – so why did that monster's actions matter so much to me? It was just a kiss_. Sherlock began to analyse himself, his dream, everything. How he'd hopelessly offered himself to Jim to prevent John from getting hurt. Screaming out his name as he woke up. Referred to him as 'his' John?

Sherlock thought about John running into his room, gun cocked with a solider stance. A smile spread wide across his face at the thought, suddenly dropping when Sherlock realized it was there. _Oh fuck_ Sherlock thought to himself, his face beginning to heat fiercely as he realized _I have a crush on John. _


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A sharp, metallic ring echoed through John's ears. He blinked his eyes open, seeking out the clockwork menace and silencing it's painful screams. It was 5am and John groaned at the thought of heaving himself out of his toasty warm sheets to sit in the surgery at Bart's from 7am until 5pm, reassuring every hypochondriac that walked through the door that it was just a cold.

Regardless of his compulsion to cocoon himself in his duvet, he stiffly rose from his bed to stand on the cold wooden floor boards which creaked under his weight. He shivered weakly was the cold air of his room swirled around him, quickly making him more alert as he slowly padded his way towards his bedroom door.

He grasped the cool metal of the door knob, twisting it gently to release the door. The door gently swung open with a creek as he was faced with the dark stairway which lead downstairs. Unfortunately, the lights did not switch on from the top of the stairs, so John would have to trek down the stairs in the dark. John started down the stairs, groping the wall as he went, the wood of the stairs creaking and cracking under his steady steps.

Sherlock was perched on the end of his bed, dangling his feet over the edge of it's frame. He hadn't slept after his…nightmare. He had been shaken, not by the mad man that had terrorised his subconscious, but rather the feelings that had been revealed for his companion. The anchor that was guilt hung heavily in his chest. _How could I let this happen? I shouldn't think about my friend that way. I got jealous over a kiss that didn't even happen for fuck sake!_

Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and cradled them steadily. He cocked his ear towards the door, listening to the creaking of second floor staircase as John stealthily descended. _Get a hold of yourself you heartless fool. It's just the dream talking_. Sherlock rose slowly from his bed to stand behind his door, preparing himself to enter the hallway. With a deep breath, he grabbed the handle and swung the door open abruptly.

The door opened with a swoosh and Sherlock quickly emerged into the dim hallway, storming straight through to the kitchen, holding his breath the whole way. John was stood in front of the kettle which boiled steadily, rubbing his eyes with one hand as he retrieved a mug and tea bag with another. His striped pyjamas hung loosely from his figure as he stood there, bare foot on the tiled floor, his skin glowing lightly in the harsh kitchen light.

John snapped his head towards Sherlock as he stood there still, looking at John, seeming not to breathe. John in took a deep breath at the shock of his friend standing there, dramatically clutching his heart when he realized who it was. "Christ Sherlock! Don't creep around in the bloody dark." He turned his attention back to the kettle which had just finished boiling, lifting it cautiously to pour the water into his mug.

Sherlock was frozen. He suddenly felt uncomfortable around John, finding it hard to respond to his remark or to move from the spot where he stood in the kitchen. He mentally shook himself _c'mon you freak, it was a dream for fuck sake_. He responded quietly "s-sorry", shifting his feet slightly as he spoke.

John looked up as Sherlock who stood stiffly in the kitchen doorway. "What's up with you Sherlock? You seem a little on edge" John inquired, trying not to sound patronising to the genius which stood before him. He lifted the mug of hot liquid to his lips, blowing gently over the surface of the beverage before taking a sip.

Sherlock didn't hear John's question, his concentration was focused on John's lips which pursed to blow the evaporating liquid away from the surface of his tea. His lips looked thin and tender and inviting. Sherlock couldn't help but stare at John's gorgeous features. His bright eyes, button nose, soft wrinkles around the eyes that defined as he smiled and those lips.

John set down the mug on the counter top, focusing on Sherlock and frowning as he stared at him. "Sherlock…?" John whispered through the tense silence between them. Sherlock's eyes never left John's lips as he approached him, trying not to think twice about his actions. In a moment, he was centimetres from John, bowing his head to look down at him.

Sherlock placed his fingertips gently under John's chin, tilting his head upwards so that his face was parallel to his. _Here we go_ thought Sherlock as he reached his head down, starting to close the gap between them. His heart raced with anticipation as his companions lips approached his at an almost slow motion pace. He began to close his eyes as…

BEEP! BEEP! – BEEP! BEEP!

Sherlock's eyes sprung open as his 7am alarm sounded in his ear. He clenched his eyes and sighed audibly. "oh – fuCK OFF!" Sherlock yelled into his pillow. Another dream had haunted his sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sherlock lay sprawled out across the sofa. It was 7:03am according to the clock in the kitchen, 3 minutes since he had woken up from whatever game his mind had been playing and honestly, he was just waiting to see if he was going to wake up again. He was pretty sure that he was awake this time, simply because he stumped his toe leaving the bedroom. The pain that had surged through his body would have been enough to have woken him from a coma.

Sherlock's fingertips were pressed together in front of his face, a slight frown drawn across his brow. His breathing was slow and steady as he counted the seconds between each breath, sinking deep into the works of his mind palace. He was shaken from the dreams and felt betrayed by his mind, so instead of moping around about it, he decided to try and learn about them – to try and understand how to tell the difference between reality and his overactive subconscious.

He started to analyse. _No sense of temperature or physical touch_ he began to analyse, cursing himself for possibly falling for such a flawed projection of interpreted reality. _Undefined edges of view, gaps within time sequences _he continued _– how the bloody hell did I think that they were reality? _

Sherlock's concentration snapped at the sound of a small bump sounding from just outside of the door, near the stairs. "Bloody fuck!" the frustrated utterances of the doctor could be heard from just outside of the room, followed by the shuffling sound of slippers nearing the room. John slipped into the room, standing just inside of the door frame as he rubbed his eyes.

"Why are you here?" Sherlock queried bitterly, barely glancing at the doctor for frustration of being disturbed. John studied Sherlock lying on the sofa. "Well I do live here you know." He replied with his usual dose of sarcasm. Sherlock ignored his comment. "I mean, why are you not at work John? Oh I see, well that would be because it's Saturday Sherlock. Oh yes, of course John, how stupid of me, thank you for being such an amazing companion. Where would I be without you?" John acted out, accounting for Sherlock's lack of response.

Sherlock glared at John as he turned his back to walk to the kitchen, presumably to make a pot of tea. "I've never called you 'amazing' in my life" he shouted after John as he walked away. John continued about his tea making routine as he shouted back, "Haven't you? Well you should. – I am amazing." Sherlock smiled and hopped up from the sofa, striding over to the window to look out over London.

The orange light of dawn kissed the glistening windows and slate roofs of the awakening London. The ghost of a smile hung in Sherlock's eyes as he embraced the picturesque view which had so often inspired his composing. The companionship between man and natures light made his heart sing in a way which only music itself could convey.

John returned from the kitchen, carrying two cups of tea in one hand and a plate of biscuits in another. Sherlock turned and smiled at him as he approached, reaching towards one of the cups when he got close enough. John smiled in return, "here" he said, offering out the cups, nodding towards them in a suggestion to take one. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around the top of one of the cups, trying to avoid the hot pottery surrounding the liquid.

"Thanks." Said Sherlock, gratefully, before pursing his lips to blow over his beverage as he walked towards his arm chair. John placed the plate of biscuits down on the coffee table before taking a seat in his own armchair, cradling his cup in his hands. "So," John started, "any more dreams…nightmares…panic attacks or whatever?" he inquired casually, sipping lightly at his tea after he spoke.

Sherlock had a flashback of John's face nearing his, his heart pounding wildly. _Should I tell him? No…Should I? What have I got to lose? _Sherlock opened his mouth to talk, in taking a deep breath to start when the phone began to ring. Sherlock exhaled audibly, placing his mug onto the coffee table and marching over to the desk to pick up the phone. "What is it?" Sherlock asked angrily, John rolling his eyes from over the room.

_"Nice to talk to you too Sherlock. It's Gregg. There's bee-"_ Sherlock interrupted the voice on the phone. "Who?" he inquired bluntly. _"Lestrade! For God sake Sherlock. There's been a murder and we're stumped."_ Sherlock rolled his eyes "Why am I not surprised? Text me the address and we'll be there soon." Sherlock replaced the receiver and turned to John. "Get dressed" he instructed "Lestrade's in over his head again."

John sighed, "Is there time to finish my tea?" He looked down at the barely touched beverage. Sherlock started towards his bedroom, "What do you think?" He replied, continuing through the door of his bedroom, slamming it behind him. John sighed, placing his tea on the coffee table and standing, stretching his stiff muscles before starting towards his room. _Why can't people die on work days?_

As John walked towards the door to the staircase, he heard Sherlock's bedroom door burst open followed be hasty footsteps. Sherlock re-appeared in the living room topless, glancing around as he murmured to himself. John's eyes were fixed on Sherlock's torso. He was pale and slender. His skin seemed to glow in the light from the windows, making him seem almost angelic. John's heart almost stopped as he gawked at his angelic figure, striding across the room to retrieve his phone before retreating to his room again, not once lifting his gaze to look at John.

John released a breath that he didn't know he was holding, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. _I'm not gay._


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock shut the door behind him and tossed his phone onto the bed. He let out a deep sigh as he leant his body back against the door, sliding gently down the wood until he was met with the floor. _Was he…did he look at me?_ His heart was thumping away in his chest, drumming against his rib cage and throwing his breathing off rhythm.

He bumped his head back against the door with a clunk. Squeezing his eyes shut, he clenched his jaw and tried to erase the thoughts of John from his mind. _Stop this. You're a man for Gad sake, not a thirteen year old, hormonal school girl with the illusion of love. Get over yourself!_ With that he stood up, in taking a deep breath before exhaling again. "Alright. Enough now. We have work to do." He said to himself, walking over to the wardrobe and pulling out his favourite purple shirt and removing it from the hanger.

John was slowly climbing the stairs to his room, haunted by the fact that he had just gawked at his half naked friend and – enjoyed the view. He had never noticed how perfect he was before. How sculpted his torso was. How his skin glowed. John couldn't stop thinking about him. _C'mon man! You've seen him naked before! This is nothing new!_

John made it to his room without drooling, collapsing onto the bed when he got there and staring at the ceiling as though it held the answer. _I seriously need to get laid. That's all this is. I'm just horny. Good thing I have a date tonight. I mean, Emma seems nice, right? She's smart and funny and cute and female_. John continued to think about his date, about having dinner and making small talk which would lead back to her place to have another glass of wine or two before retreating to the bedroom.

The bedroom he thought, closing his eyes to try and picture his evening. He imagined passionately kissing his date, running his hands all over her body, eagerly pulling at her clothes as he was lead to the bedroom. She broke the kiss, both of them panting heavily, smiling. "I'll be right back" she said, scurrying off to the bathroom and closing the door behind her. John quickly stripped, throwing and kicking his clothes off to the corner of the room until only his underwear remained. He waited eagerly for her to return. The bathroom door opened and John froze. It was not his date who emerged, but Sherlock, stripped down to just his boxers, expressionless as he advanced into the bedroom. John remained still as Sherlock neared him until he was so close he could feel the heat radiating from his body. Sherlock was looking down at him, the hint of a smile on his face as he craned his neck down, his face nearing John's. John's heart was racing as Sherlock's lips –

"John?" John's eyes snapped open. He was still lying on his bed, facing the ceiling. He looked down at himself still in his pyjamas. He blushed as he saw he had become rather aroused, forming what looked like a tent out of his trousers.

"John." John whipped his head towards the door where Sherlock stood, leaning against the frame with a shit eating grin plastered on his face. "What were you thinking about?" he asked teasingly. John, mortified, leapt to his feet, grabbing his pillow and holding it over his crotch. "Get out Sherlock!" John yelled, his face burning with embarrassment. Sherlock held is position, the grin on his face spreading as he spoke, "Sorry John, I can't. I'm feeling a bit _stiff_." Sherlock started to chuckle as John charged towards him, dropping the pillow as he marched "Get out!" He shouted, shoving Sherlock back and slamming the door in his face.

Sherlock doubled over outside of John's door, holding his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably. "I'm. Sorry. John." He half heartedly apologized through his laughter. "I'll. Be waiting. Downstairs." He shouted at John breathlessly through the door as he turned to walk downstairs. As he walked he tried to steady his breathing. _Why did you laugh!? He's going to hate you!...and he looked so hot when he was aroused – wait. No. He didn't look hot, he looked like John. Get a hold of yourself!_

John remained behind the door, his hand pressed against it and his eyes drawn shut. _What the hell was that John? Thinking about that lovely, sexy girl and then that! At what point did you get aroused you stupid bender? Stupid man. _John's eyes started to tear up. He was so embarrassed. He felt as though all sense of his identity, after all, he had never looked twice at a man or second guessed his sexuality or anything. So that fantasy – left a black hole in his stomach, engulfing him from the inside out.

John slapped himself hard across the face to snap him back to reality. _Come on old boy. We can deal with this later. We have a crime to _help_ solve._

* * *

(((Sorry that these paragraphs are a bit racy? I know it'll be a quick read for you guys but this is my first fic and I'm still trying to get the hang of things. If this gets a good reception then I'll rewrite it in the future with more detail and stuff. Thank you for your patience! Love you guys 3)))


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